


Lovely Locks of Golden

by VillainousReaper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Definitely sex involved, Humanstuck, M/M, NSFW, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainousReaper/pseuds/VillainousReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee's hair is so beautiful, no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely Locks of Golden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unhealthydoctors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unhealthydoctors/gifts).



> MAN OKAY so this isn't the way I really want it and I'll be secretly editing it throughout the time it's up so TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK IN THE COMMENTS because all comments, compliments and critiques and much much MUCH appreciated. Thank you everyone for reading what I've written. I adore you all!
> 
> This is for unhealthyterminals Lovely Locks of Golden comic! I'll link it somewhere if I can figure out how to do that.

The youngest Makara rambles on about some “wicked-ass motherfuckin’ miracle” that happened earlier in the day, something pertaining to a beagle puppy, a 3 foot stick and some colorful tape as he pops open a can of soda. You’d listen if you could, but your eyes end up transfixed on something else that you can never tear yourself away from no matter how much you probably need to. It’s like the strands call to you, very carefully tricking you into letting your mind wander and eyes fall on the golden locks before you until whatever task at hand has fallen apart into the nothing that befalls your thoughts. That mound of golden wheat-blonde on his head is a trickster, a seducer with the charm of a thousand shirtless Fabio’s and the voice of a deity, though it makes no noise. It’s bullshit. It’s just hair, just hair! But to you, it’s so much more and you can never figure out why.

 

_If there’s one thing I’d have to mention when it comes to my favorite thing about Gamzee, then it’d have to be his hair. Don’t get me wrong! I have so many favorite things about him that always come to mind. His voice, his demeanor, his gentle touch…_

_But his **hair**. His hair and the way it falls on his skin, the way it rests against and shapes his face so well has a way of getting all of my attention._

He caught you. “Ey Tavbro, you all up and listenin’, motherfucker?” You didn’t think he’d catch you again, but he always does. He always does. “Ah, yeah! Yeah I’m listening, sorry. I was just…” You trail off. He smiles his signature smile and it warms your heart so nicely that you can’t help but smile as well, despite the embarrassment that coats your cheeks and the outer shells of your ears.

 

He stands and removes his jacket (the one with the hole in the left pocket that he refuses to let anyone patch up because it adds “motherfuckin’ character to the bitch” and “it just ain’t right without a few holes here’n there”) and lets it fall to the floor without a care in the world. You pick it up like always and set it over the arm of the couch while the Makara plants himself on the stool where he sat before, taking a sip of the half-empty soda the rested on the coffee table. You sit back on the couch instead and offer up the more comfortable space next to you, but he waves it off and says he prefers the stool, says he finds it so miraculous that a seat with no back can be just as comfortable.

 

You go back to watching him.

 

_The warm, golden color, like a peaceful afternoon. It’s comforting._

 

He continues to babble on, the hand with rings and string on one finger waving about in meaningless gestures while you scoot closer. He cocks a brow but pays no mind as you card your fingers through his lovely locks of golden, the smile spreading across your lips. It’s odd, really, how hair like his can make your mind run rampant and then dissipate like nothing. It’s got a grip on you, on your heart and it refuses to let go, but you don’t mind. You silently act like you hate it (you’d never really say that EVER, nor would you show it physically) but you don’t. You love it and you adore it.

 

_The way his locks feel between my fingers…_

 

You stand and wrap your arms around him, hiding your face in the field of blonde atop his noggin'. Even if you can’t see it, you know he’s beaming a smile like an oblivious fool.

 

When you inhale, the natural scent of him fills you up, mixed with the subtle hint of the tea tree shampoo you bought and told him to use.

 

_The smell…_

Every time you get the chance to stand behind him, every time he’s distracted and his gaze is lost on something else, yours is lost on him, on his hair, mesmerized by the way it catches the light.

 

_Gamzee’s hair… It’s so beautiful._

 

•     •     •     •

 

“Gamzee! I’m back!” The door clicks shut behind you just after the sound of a small crash. You glance around somewhat anxiously and open your mouth to call out again when a familiar voice finally answers. You exhale, relieved and pat your chest, as if saying, ‘Calm down heart, it’s, uh, okay. No one’s dead, I think.’

 

“In the laboratory, motherfucker!” You smirk. He’s always so damn cheery and it makes your heart flutter. You make your way to the bathroom, already preparing yourself for the hug that’s sure to come the moment you step through. Buuuut it doesn’t happen. Instead, you poke your head through the doorway of the restroom and before you can finish your sentence of, “Hi Gamzee,” your expression has flipped to shock in .2 seconds and your eyes widen. He stares back at you, confused with hair clippings covering his shoulders and the grimy tile. “...? Tavbro?” He doesn’t seem to get why you’re surprised to unsettling silence until a few seconds after.

 

“Oh! Surprised?” Well no shit, Gam. He beams this cheeky grin that makes him look so innocent. “Brother all up ‘n thought he could go for a motherfuckin’ cut. I ain’t too good at this kinda motherfuckin’ shit though.” You take a step toward him just through the entryway as he rattles off, “What do you thiiiiink?”

 

_His…_

 

You walk into the bathroom with a quick pace, jarred expression held tight on your face and rest your hands on his painted cheeks. Your pads of your fingers graze over the back of his jaw and before he can finish saying that little nickname he started callin’ you the week after you both first met, you pull him into a lustful and sloppy kiss. He tenses up, finally reaching the level of surprise you’ve been riding since you laid eyes on him 6 minutes before.

 

_His hair._

 

You don’t care. You want him. You want him now.

 

_His hair. His golden locks… They’re so short._

 

Your tongue slides against his, cheeks burning up swiftly and breaths quickening. Your digits become entangled in the short, soft threads of gold and a hum rumbles in the back of your throat; Gamzee carefully pulls away with a hushed moan, somewhat wild eyes searching your face for some sort of answer.

 

_It’s so beautiful…_

His bottom lip is barely swollen, greasepaint smudged and bewildered eyes staring down at you, you exhale shakily. “Fuck…” He mumbles, running his tongue over his lip. “Tav?” It’s like he’s asking if you’re possessed or something, like you’ve never kissed him out of the blue before. “G-Gamzee…” You stutter out, huffing softly with furrowed brows and rosey cheeks.

 

Your lover's eyes gloss over and narrow at you darkly, inching closer. You tilt your head slightly and lean up to him, but he seems to have other plans.

 

The Makara grabs your shoulders and pushes you up against the bathroom wall; firm but gentle, rugged hands run down your sides and you squirm, his fingers finding the spot on your lower back that turns you into a mewling mess every time and he knows it. He knows how you get but he finds it all the more interesting to make you tremble in his grip and beg for mercy like a wanton whore.

 

You arch your back as his hand runs lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your jeans and around to the front. He tugs and eyes you carefully and you can’t help but smirk (somewhat nervously) at him, rolling your hips so his fingers brush against the base of your dick. He grins and licks his smudged lower lip as he pulls again, slowly removing your pants. You shake your head and grip his wrist, pushing it away, then stepping out of the bathroom. He follows behind, looking a little bit confused and curious as well as sexually frustrated. The tent in his pants and flustered look on his face gives it away.

 

“Not there. The bathroom is… Kinda gross, and not the place for sex, unless it’s in the shower, but…” You trail off and he’s already ahead of you, snickering and dragging you behind as you both stumble toward the bedroom.

 

Minutes pass of fervent, tongue-filled making out and clothes hitting the floor (not enough, as you were both left with shirts on) before he finally asks if you’re really up for this. Really? He’s really asking that right now?

 

You grip the front of his shirt tight and jerk him down into a heavy kiss, making the little ‘mhm’ sound as you do so, and he smiles the most childish smile you’ve ever witnessed. You hear fumbling and the sound of a drawer opening as he pulls away and breathes hotly over you, his damp skin and tangled locks making him look all the more rugged and aroused. There’s a click of a bottle and you lift your head, brows tilting upward in the middle. You whine pathetically, watching as he smears the lube over his cock.

 

No matter how long you stare or how often you turn away, the butterflies in your stomach don’t stop. When Gamzee leans over you and presses a kiss to your forehead, then carefully attacks your neck, they don’t stop. When your hands find their way to his curls and you feel a pressure against your ass, they don’t stop. Your heart picks up and you get lost in the heat of the moment; the white-hot fire running through your veins is just the beginning.

 

Your boyfriend picks up an easy pace at first, giving you the chance to adjust before feral instinct takes control. You huff and keen to every compassionate touch, back curving and hands twitching. It isn’t until everything speeds up and his thrusts gain a punishing strength that you fall apart entirely at the seams, moans flowing like nobody’s business and the grip on his golden hair tightening. Gamzee presses his palms into the mattress, one on either side of you, and digs his nails into the bed. You can hear him scratch at it, the sound drowning out the loud slap of his pelvis hitting your rear. You lift your legs and wrap them around his middle, ankles hooking together, hips tilting upward. Everything burns so nicely and you can’t control the pathetic whimper escaping you, a high wail of pleasure following shortly after.

 

_Even in a time like this,_

 

You lift your head to his after he’s pulled himself away from your neck, foreheads touching, his nose brushing against yours the same way his breath ghosts over your lips and card your fingers through his locks, fighting every urge to pull roughly. The bed creaks beneath you and precum leaks from the tip of your cock; your hips tremble with each roll and Gamzee brushes over your prostate so wonderfully that you whine immediately after, as if begging for him to do it again.

 

_Oh god,_

 

He repeats the action and you tug needily, breath catching in your throat and coming out in a choked groan.

 

_His hair,_

 

Your hips buck when you feel his hand wrap around your aching length, muscles tensing and head falling back into the plush pillow. His fingers slide easily up and down and your groin burns something fierce; your stomach knots up and it suddenly feels like you can’t breathe.

 

_It’s so beautiful… He’s so beautiful!_

 

A rush of relief flows through you and you cum hard, lightning sparking every muscle, every joint in your body. Your knuckles literally pale in comparison to the rest of your body as the grasp on your lover’s blonde strands stiffens. Your hips snap upward and you toss your head back in a final cry, the sound bouncing off the walls of the room, leaving a blissful silence–save for the panting and sore groans–behind.

 

•     •     •     •

 

_Gamzee’s hair is one of my favorite things about him..._

 

“Tavbroooooooo,” he sings out in a mocking tune that you know means trouble, turning his head lazily to look at up you. You sit up, hickeys covering your neck (as if you can tell, or muster up enough energy to care) and glance over at his white-and-gray blotched face, raising a brow curiously. “Uh, yeah Gam?” He chuckles like a tired clown and grins immaturely, victoriously, exhaling with his words. “Motherfucker should get his hair cut more often, huh?”

 

“Shut up!” “Honk honk!”

 

_He knows this now._


End file.
